Bizarre Sense of Justice
by Sxvgwii
Summary: Multi-chapter one-shot. USUK. Human names used. Colonial!Alfred and Pirate!Arthur. Rated M for violence, language, rape, blood and other things. OCs and a bit of OOC. Bad Summary: Captain Kirkland and his crew stop off in a colonial town to refill their supplies and encounter more than they bargained for. Pre-Revolutionary War.
1. Chapter 1

**Little one shot I decided to write (while writing two other stories, but I have writer's block so bleh). It'll probably be about 2-3 chapters long unless you **_**beg**_** me to continue. :D**

**My history is probably pretty inaccurate and I could really care less. Yes, this is a romanticized version of pirates, so get over it. I'm fascinated by pirate!England. I think he's marvelous. I also have an older version of colonial!America simply because there is some semblance of a relationship between them, and an older Iggy and child Alfred is just creepy. OOC and OC abounds. Rated M for violence, blood, language, mentions of rape, ect.**

**A little bit of background for you:**

**This is pre-Revolutionary war (hence why Arthur is a pirate). A lot of pirates were former captains in the King's Navy (British Navy) and were turned pirate. Few pirates were around during 1765 which is when the Quartering Act was passed. A lot of British soldiers weren't bad, but there were a few reports of rape and maltreatment. Few and far between – I'm not hating on the English, I promise! I'm having Arthur be sympathetic towards the colonists (haha, look at that) because he's not a big fan of his government either, even though he still loves his Queen. So this is USUK, boyxboy, blah blah blah, inaccurate information, whatever. Read and enjoy.**

The air was dank and musty, mingled with a smell of old wood and alcohol. Floorboards creaked as they were trod upon and the room was filled with the hum of voices, mixed with the occasional laughter. An elderly man with dark brown hair that was pulled into a low ponytail stood behind a long wooden bar, stained with spilled alcohol and vomit.

Dull grey eyes wandered over the patrons occasionally for any signs of drunken violence, but they mostly followed a young girl who weaved her way between tables. Light brown hair was looped into a tight bun near the nape of her neck; forest green eyes shone with youth and vigor as she handed drinks around to the men at the various wooden tables. She was dressed simply, with a long green skirt that swept across the floor and a white blouse buttoned up to her throat.

The girl made her way to a secluded table with three men and began to set down their drinks, making sure to flash a charming smile their way but the forest-colored orbs lingered on the pale blonde conversing with a raven-haired companion. His accent was obviously British, but he was dressed as a colonist with tan breeches and a simple white shirt, open at the collar and black boots; certainly no redcoat.

When his drink was set before him, he glanced to the girl with a soft smile of thanks before returning to his conversation. For a moment, she was captured in his gaze; green eyes the color of rare gems, large and powerful. The girl was nothing more than a child, probably sixteen? Nothing to draw the young blonde's attention from his conversation except to acknowledge her. The girl's smile wavered slightly before turning her smile to the other blonde at the table, this time an older blonde with his hair pulled back into a black ribbon, icy blue orbs eyeing her with interest. He was dressed similarly as the rest, albeit a bit more provocative.

As she handed him his drink, his fingers grazed across the girls with a seductive smile plastered over his face. The girl's cheeks dusted with pink as she hesitantly withdrew her hand, but a stone-cold stare from the younger blonde at his friend made her withdraw all the quicker. Drunkenly loud laughter exploded from a table across the room as a man in the traditional redcoat uniform beckoned the girl for another drink.

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned and made her way to him, glancing over her shoulder at the three mysterious men. The elder blonde flashed her a dazzling smile, only to receive another glare from his friend before being dragged into their conversation. The men certainly were not from this town, if the various accents attested to the fact. Sailors probably or merchants in for supplies.

Glares were sent the redcoat's way, showing obvious disdain from the colonists in the room at their presence. But their brash and drunken behavior made the scowls grow deeper. As the child made her way to the soldiers, making sure to take her time, a door opened from behind the bar as a young man stepped from it. He seemed to rise up out of the floor, carrying a heavy keg in his brawny arms.

Dark blonde hair and a strand that defied gravity bounced as he trudged up to the bar, setting the keg down and positioning it for ease of reach for the barkeep. Dark blue eyes shined with bubbling excitement as he turned to grab a nearby cloth to wipe the bar down; the elder man pouring another pitcher of the foamy beer. The boy was older than the young girl, early twenties probably and increasingly handsome; a suitable man for marriage. But alas, he never looked upon the girl as nothing more than a sister, flashing her a dazzlingly warm smile from time to time whenever he caught her staring at him.

By the time the girl had reached the soldier's table, their drunken banter had increased in volume as they discussed the recently passed Quartering Act and the families they were to quarter with. The small girl feigned a smile as she looked at the men, hazed eyes turning to her. One man with auburn hair turned to her, eyes laced with alcohol and lust as he looked over her body as a piece of meat. His uniform declared him a captain in the British Army, as well as his demeanor and his attitude towards the other two men.

"Well, well. Whot's your name lass?" He slurred, reaching out to run his fingers over a fold of the girl's skirt. The girl tried to take a step back out of his reach, but the fingers quickly curled into his skirt and held her still on the spot.

"A-amelia." She stammered, fear raising in her eyes as she quickly glanced to the men behind the bar. Both men were frozen in place, hatred apparent in both of their eyes as they watched the scene unfold before them. There wasn't much that they could do, especially not in the circumstances except to watch.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. How old are you _Amelia_?" One of the men at the table snickered drunkenly as his eyes roved over the petrified girl, while the other male looked vaguely bored with the whole ordeal.

"S-sixteen."

"Hmm.. that's old enough isn't it chaps?"

"Aye." The man who had snickered agreed, leaning over the table towards his companion and the girl. "Aye, last week I had a girl that was no more than fourteen. Pretty little thing too."

Amelia whimpered, trying to draw herself away from the captain's grasp but it only tightened and then pulled her into him, his other hand grasping one of her wrists as it stroked lovingly over the skin.

"What do you say lass? How would you like to become a real woman?" His grin turned devilish as his grip tightened upon her wrist, standing and pulling her flush against his body. She tried to pull away once more, whimpering again as she glanced back to her friends behind the bar. The barkeep's face had turned pale while his younger companions was blood red with the boiling rage that he was desperately fighting to control, clutching the soiled rag in his hand with white knuckles. The soldier had done nothing but suggest, which allowed the colonists no form of action.

"Come on," the captain growled as he practically dragged the girl from table and across the tavern towards the door. Eyes followed and a few men stood from their chairs, but nothing could be done. Which mattered more to the colonists? A poor child being raped or getting shot for attacking a soldier and leaving their own families defenseless. The man's companions had joined him as they strode out of the door and into the chill New England night, his grip tight enough on the girl's wrist to leave bruises later.

He dragged her towards the woods behind the tavern, his companions trailing behind in case she had tried to escape with malicious smiles etched into their faces. Their footfall echoed into the crisp night, crunching over leaves and twigs as they neared the edge of the wood. Amelia swore that she head a door slam somewhere nearby, but she wasn't sure. The night threatened for snow; a white ring hung around the moon that had risen in the sky and a cold wind was blowing from the North. It would be a beautiful night except for the dark deeds that were about to take place.

The group stumbled into the woods, pushing past thick underbrush to only find themselves a few feet into the forest, a clearing opening before them. Spinning around, the captain turned upon the girl, his smile and eyes blazing and making him look like the Devil himself. He threw her roughly to the ground, a cry escaping her lips as she slammed into the soft ground, a stick digging into her back. The man threw himself onto of her as his friends turned to look away, watching for anyone that tried to interfere.

Hands gripped her blouse and tore it open, revealing her soft skin to the frigid air of the moonlit night. Tears forced themselves from her eyes as his hands hungrily groped her breasts, her sobs echoing in the still night. A hand found her throat to silence her as the other hand fumbled with his pants. But a crash resounded and broke him from his resolve. Tear-stained eyes turned to see the other two soldier's struggling with the young man from the tavern.

"ALFRED!" The girl screamed before her voice was silenced again but the captain's hand clenched around her throat. His hand drew a long flintlock pistol and held it up with the young man in his sights, finally being held against a tree by the other two soldiers.

"ALFRED!" Amelia screamed again, struggling pitifully against the heavy man straddling her. A smirk crossed the Brit's features as he cocked the pistol, the other two soldiers holding Alfred still but stepping back enough to not be hit by the bullet. An additional click of a cocked pistol clicked through the night forcing the captain to pause in confusion before his face froze. Warm crimson blood trickled down from his throat and poured onto his frock, pooling onto Amelia's torn blouse and exposed chest.

The British solider slumped to the ground in a gurgling heap. Amelia shoved the still-warm body away from her with a cry and clutched her torn blouse to her chest in an attempt to cover herself. Her eyes shot towards the figure towering over her, a bloody knife gripped in his pale and slender hand. His other hand extended towards the two soldiers and Alfred, pistol in hand and ready to be fired. His face was emotionless, but his eyes burned with hate and anger.

The two redcoats threw the young American from them as they withdrew their pistols and pointed them unsteadily at the newcomer.

"You'll pay for that!" One screamed, finger moving towards the trigger, but he was stopped by a sensation of cold steel placed against the back of his head. His eyes widened as he glanced to his friend, a cold gun placed to the back of his head as well.

"Seems you're outnumbered," the mysterious Brit mused as the two owners of the guns stepped from the shadows, revealing the other two men from before. Alfred had managed to crawl to Amelia's side during the commotion and was clutching her to him protectively, blue eyes locked onto the men at a stand-still before them. His broad hands were shaking violently, with fear or adrenaline - Amelia wasn't sure, but his body was warm and protective.

"K-kirkland." One of the soldiers stuttered, his eyes alight with recognition as he stared at the young blonde before him, gun still aloft in his hand despite the presence of sure death at the back of his head.

"'Ello Morris." The blonde smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He glanced at the other male who was trembling between the steel of the raven-haired male. "William." He nodded, before glancing down at the two American's on the ground. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes, thank you." Amelia stammered, eyes wide with fright at the man towering over her. His emerald eyes flicked over to Alfred, cold gaze glinting with curiosity. But the gaze was cut short as a shot rung through the air, followed by three shots almost in succession. Three bodies fell to the ground, but the aforementioned, Kirkland, was balanced on his knees, teeth gritted in pain as he dropped his gun and clutched his shoulder, blood quickly seeping through the cracks between his fingertips.

"Blood hell," he murmured as his two companions dashed towards the three on the ground, leaving the two soldiers where they fell. Blood was pooling around their bodies, the ground soaking up the life-giving blood greedily as bits of brain matter and hair were strewn nearby and evident on the men's clothing and faces. "Sacrebleu!" The elder blonde cried as he fell down to his knees next to his friend, the raven-haired man crouching next to him as the blonde tried to examine his friend's shoulder.

"Belt up Francis!" The young man exclaimed, throwing a hard slap to the Frenchman's cheek. "It's just my bloody shoulder!" He cried as he staggered to his feet, blood draining from his face as he wavered slightly upon standing. His gaze fell down to the two young American's, Alfred gently pulling Amelia to her feet. He was taller than the Brit by a few inches and fell into the same height as the Frenchman. The raven-haired male was by far the shortest and was only rivaled in height by Amelia.

"Let me help you," Alfred offered, eyes fixated on the bleeding shoulder before bringing his gaze back to the pale face. "My father was a doctor. I can patch you up," he explained before looking to the young woman clutching his arms in desperation. "Let me take Amelia home, and then I'll take care of you."

The other two men looked at the Brit, who must have been their leader from what Amelia deduced, a pleading look in their eyes. "Arthur-san," the raven-haired male finally spoke, his voice heavy with an oriental accent, black eyes locking onto the Brit's face, "Listen to this man. We would not be able to get you back to the ship in time. And I do not rink you would want to run into any more soldiers? Especially if they are not drunk - they will recognize you."

The blonde's gaze hardened at his friend, but his face paled more as his shirt began to feel heavier with the thick blood oozing out of his arm and staining it. He sighed and turned his gaze onto the American boy and looked him over momentarily before nodding his head feebly. He was losing blood quickly and it was becoming harder to do much more at the moment.

Alfred nodded as he began to quickly unbutton his shirt and pulled it over Amelia's shoulders before pointing to the silent Asian man, "You – take her home. She'll show you were to go." He nodded at Amelia, offering her a small comforting smile before turning to the dead captain and pulling the blood stained shirt from his body and buttoning it up quickly with deft fingers. His features were pulled into concentration as he moved towards the Englishman and wrapped his arm around his waist, nodding to the Frenchman as the Brit stiffened at the contact. "You – help me. C-can you walk?" He asked, turning his face to look into the pale face of the bleeding man.

"I'll be fine," he grumbled and nodded towards the Asian who had settled himself beside Amelia, making sure to keep a respectable distance between them.

"Amelia, I'll come by and check on your later okay?"

"It's okay Al, I'll have Mary. Go help him," the girl smiled as she turned towards the Asian man who was eyeing the three blonds suspiciously, a barely noticeable gleam in his eye as he looked between the two younger males. "Come on you," she smiled, tugging Alfred's too-large shirt closer to her body before leading the Asian out of the woods towards her own home.

Arthur's strength was beginning to give out on him, his knees beginning to shake as the blood steadily drained from his body. The two men's bodies radiated heat towards him as they carefully picked their way out of the dense undergrowth, eyes scanning for any signs of life on the nighttime street. A man staggered down the street towards his home after a night in a tavern, but otherwise the streets were empty. The Frenchman and the American half-carried the nearly unconscious Brit down the mud-packed street, hoof and footprints still evident from the day's travel as well as the stray rut from a wagon being pushed along.

The trio picked their way down the street in the direction of the tavern before turning towards a small whitewashed house, three doors down from the tavern. Alfred pulled a small key from his pocket and picked at the padlock door on the front of the house before opening the door and assisting to carry the Brit into the house.

The house was bare save for a few pieces and nearly as cold as what they had just came through. A small bed was pushed in a corner of the room, near the fireplace. A small square table was situated towards the center of the room with various papers and a large black bag filled to the brim with metallic instruments on top of it. Two hand carved chairs were pushed up to the table, and there was an additional chair near the fireplace as well as a rocking chair near one of the two windows in the house. A small stove stood by the other window with a pot situated on it; a small cabinet stood next to it with the door slightly ajar, revealing various cooking items and ingredients essential to life itself. There was a small dresser next to the bed. It was simply the home of a colonial bachelor.

The two men guided their bleeding counterpart towards the bed, Alfred commanding the Frenchman to wait as he rushed to a wash basin and pulled a towel. He trotted back to them and held the towel to the back of the bloody shoulder before gently guiding Arthur down onto the bed, his face twisting in pain as they did so. The man's thoughts wondered as he looked between the two blurred faces, a scowl deepening into his features as the darkness began to fade into his sight, vision tunneling into nothing.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

A fire crackled nearby and the smell of burning wood and smoked filled Arthur's nostrils. Pain ebbed through his shoulder, his skin stinging fiercely. A small groan escaped from between his parched lips, barely audible as he forced his eyelids to open. He was lying down on something soft and he felt cold, but alive. The room was dark except for the glow from the dying fire that stretched its light towards him.

His shoulder was movable, but his teeth gritted in pain as the muscles protested his movement. It felt as if the bullet had been removed from his shoulder, which was in itself a good sign. The boy wasn't half bad. Craning his neck, Arthur could make out that his shirt had been removed and he had a mound of blood-soaked bandages wrapped about his shoulder. Speaking of the boy, Arthur turned his head as well as he could to see a figure slumped into a nearby chair. A nub of candle had long burned out and was resting at the sleeping figure's feet, a large leather-bound book left open on his lap.

The flames flickered as they caught onto an unburned piece of wood and lit up the boy's face. He looked peaceful as he slept, blanket loosely wrapped around his shoulders. His face showed so much youth and life although his cheeks were beginning to shallow, but who wasn't hungry in the winter? A few flecks of something dark clung to the ends of his honey-colored hair, what Arthur presumed to be his blood. His lips twitched into a smile in his sleep before relaxing yet again, his head slipping farther onto his chest. Arthur used to sleep in such peace when he was younger, but alas, he could no longer afford to sleep with both of his eyes closed.

A sleepy grumble brought Arthur's attention towards the softening flames. Curled up on a makeshift cot was the Frenchman, who was turning his body so that his back faced the flames. Francis looked troubled in his sleep as he grumbled some more, his tongue curling around the French words in a purr. _Damn frog._

A shift in a shadowy corner brought the emerald-colored eyes to gaze sharply, narrowing at the dark figure that was slumped in the corner on the floor. The dying flames made it hard to discern who it was, but the Captain could guess that it was none other than Kiku. Who else could possibly sleep sitting up on a dirt floor? The blurry sight of the Asian man triggered the image of the young girl from earlier in his mind. The poor creature had nearly been raped, and would've probably been killed had Arthur not shown up at that moment. She had seemed shaken at the incident, as any sane woman would be, but she held herself strong despite the situation. Turning his head again to the sleeping American, Arthur allowed himself to gaze upon the young man and truly take him in.

The boy was strikingly handsome and obviously young. Younger than Arthur at least and yet, he still showed incredible kindness and strength given the situation. The girl, possibly a fiancée, was practically raped and he was nearly killed in the matter. And then to have three strange men show up and slaughter the soldier's mercilessly, only to bring them back to his home and patch up their leader? _These Americans are a strange bunch_.

His face twitched and the heavily lidded eyes slowly fluttered open, the azure eyes staring hazily in the direction of the fire before roving towards the bed. Sapphire irises locked with emerald in a half-asleep manner, a warm smile curving into Alfred's lips as his eyes drifted closed again. His eyelids stayed shut for only a moment before opening again, the sleep beginning to fade as he shifted in his chair to sit upright. The smile stayed on his face as he moved the book from his lap, leaning over to set it gently on the dirt floor, his blanket slipping slightly from his shoulders. Once the binding met the floor, the young man leaned completely out of the chair to crouch at the bedside, eyes glancing to the bloodied bandages momentarily before he turned his head to look over the Captain's face.

"How are you feeling?" He questioned with a voice deep and husky with sleep as he looked over the older man's face for any indications of pain. Arthur's face was turned away from the firelight as he watched the young man move to his side, masking his facial expressions in soft shadows. He took a moment to study the boy's face before he glanced away again at his shoulder. The smile slipped from his face as he looked over the bloodied mass of cloth once more before standing and slowly making his way to the table on the far end of the room.

It wasn't that Arthur couldn't speak, but his energy was drained and he felt as if the question had no need to be answered due to the obvious nature of his condition. The other man shuffled through the large black bag and a quiet snipping sound filled the silent home. Returning his items to the bag, the American strolled back over to the bedside and dropped down onto his knees, a broad hand coming up to steady Arthur's arm while the other slowly unwrapped the soiled cloth.

The Captain watched with wide green eyes as the man went through his ministrations of replenishing his bandages with a practiced hand. At least the blood had stopped flowing freely and instead, trickled through the stitches in his skin. They itched like hell and his wound was inflamed, and judging by the hardly concerned expression on the American's face, it was perfectly normal. Arthur had been shot multiple times and the scars on his body attested to that – something the other must have seen when he undressed him, so he had become dull to the process that went through with treating such wounds; though it didn't make them hurt any less.

A hiss escaped the Englishman's lips as a careful finger prodded at the wound, checking for any sign of infection but seeing none, at least not yet. Blue eyes darted up to the pale face as the sound, a grimace setting into his features. "Can you sit up?"

Arthur turned his head to look back up at the thatched roof as he willing his body to rise. A warm hand slid under his back, making his body go rigid as it applied a gentle pressure to guide him upwards. Groaning, Arthur managed to sit upright in the bed, blood draining from his face at the movements. Deft fingers quickly wrapped the fresh cloth around the injured shoulder and tied it quickly below, the warm smile returning as the American's hands guiding Arthur back down into a resting position on the bed, taking a moment to hover over him before settling back into his chair. Blue eyes reflected the firelight as they drifted over the two other sleeping masses in the room, only to return to the rigid figure on the bed.

"My name is Alfred, by the way." He mused, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his growing smile.

Arthur found himself returning the warm smile as the other introduced himself, the man was intoxicating in the firelight. It was a rare moment of peace for the Captain, one where there was no worry of bloodshed or danger. But he would still have to guard himself, especially since he didn't know this man - he could still easily turn him in. The smile faded slightly as he pulled himself out of those azure eyes and looked over Alfred's face. It was trusting, but once again - Arthur trusted no one. But the least he could do was give the man his name and possibly answer a few questions if asked.

"Arthur." His voice croaked with lack of use, and he scowled at the fact which only increased the American's smile.

"Pleasure to meet you Arthur… excuse my boldness, but just who are you? I mean, you're obviously British and those soldiers knew you… but who are you?" _Damn, he's straight to the point._ There was no point in hiding the obvious. He had killed three British soldiers in front of the boy and they had even acknowledged who he was. Arthur's eyebrows knitted together in a scowl, in an attempt to give a menacing glare, but his current state lessened the effect.

"They know me because I was a former Captain in the King's Navy."

"And now?" The blue eyes darkened with a vague realization, searching over the pale face that had turned to look fully upon him. There were few wanted posters in the colonies of pirates as their Golden Age had passed some thirty years ago, but the knowledge that a few still sailed the seas was prevalent. He had known a few pirate Captain's names from tales and stories told by his father when he was younger, namely the fiercer of pirates such as Black Bart and even Mary Read. And a good majority of pirates were former naval captains turned rouge…

"Captain Kirkland of the Black Rose." Recognition flashed through the American's face as his blue eyes widened at the name. Yes, Arthur's ship was notorious for its ruthlessness. A feared name among sailors and merchants alike, the ship had been mentioned among the tavern's patrons but Alfred could have never suspected that such a ruthless and bloodthirsty pirate could be so… young.

"N-no, that's not possible. Captain Kirkland is supposed to be old and ugly and mean, and-and terrifying! And you're …not."

"What am I?" The Captain sneered, green eyes glinting dangerously in the shadows. Given the circumstances, Alfred had complete power over the Captain but the young man seemed entirely oblivious to that concept as he stared at the pale face before him, mouth slightly agape.

"You're so - so young. And you're beautiful… and you saved me and Amelia!" The man cried out in a quiet voice, glancing over at the two sleeping men by the fire. God help him if either of them woke up. Then he would truly be in a mess.

Raising a massive eyebrow, Arthur's thin mouth curved into a lopsided grin, "Oh?" He asked, turning his head slightly as he gazed at the man before him.

"You're supposed to be ruthless! You kill people without mercy on the seas! So why save two colonists?"

"Call it a twisted sense of justice. And I am ruthless boy." The pirate sneered, green eyes narrowing at the frozen American before him, "but I'm only loyal to myself. I saw fit to save you and your lovely fiancée and you saw fit to save my life."

"Wha-? Amelia's not my fiancée!"

"No?"

"No. And you're welcome, but still!"

A low chuckle escaped the Englishman as he studied the other man beside him. No fiancée and no family that he could see… He could always use someone on board his ship who could patch him and the crew up.

"Where's your family?" He shot out, a stir near the fire catching his ear but Arthur chose to ignore it. The room was beginning to lighten as the dark sky outside of the window began to lose its blackness. A magenta color was beginning to break in the horizon, flecked with gold and blues. The darkened expression crossed Alfred's features and his eyes narrowed towards the pirate.

"Dead." He growled out, a mixture of pain and anger flashing in his dark eyes. Despite the dark direction that their conversation had turned, Arthur's smirk grew slightly as he regarded the young man in front of him.

"Well then, a young man with no ties and a hatred for the English." He mused, groaning slightly as he tried to prop himself up onto the pillows on the small bed. The dark expression disappeared suddenly from Alfred's face as the Brit tried to move himself up, pain painting across his face at the feeble movements. Quickly leaning out of his chair, a warm hand braced Arthur's back once again and helped him to position himself comfortably against the pillows. A satisfied sigh broke through his thin lips, eyes closing for a moment as the pain throbbed through his shoulder before stealing a glance at the blonde at his side.

Alfred's expression was of sheer concern for his comfort, which Arthur found odd since he had practically dropped a pallet of bricks on their conversation. The hand lingered on his back, the other hand resting lightly against Arthur's exposed stomach as he settled himself. Green eyes locked with blue in a dangerous dance of willpower, Alfred's hands slowly retracting themselves as he watched the so-called-ruthless pirate before him. Arthur could play seducer as easily as that damn frog could and maybe it could grant him a skilled crew member.

Steeling his gaze, his other hand darted out, his lips setting into a thin line at the pain that it caused him to twist his body to do so as he grabbed the receding hand, fingers wrapping tightly around the bony wrist. Alfred's cheeks began to burn in a pink that rivaled the dawning sky outside as the injured Captain pulled him towards himself, Alfred's body following willingly.

The green eyes softened to smolder (Arthur did learn some things from his damned first mate) as the American leaned towards him, eyes wide enough for Arthur to see the entire white of his eyes. He tilted his head gently to the side and stopped his pulling as he felt the other's warm and haggard breath on his face. There was nothing Alfred could do but comply as his body betrayed him, lips barely parting in a silent protest as the Englishman's breath skimmed over them, moistening them in the dry air.

"Join me."

**A/N: Short chapter is short. I had Amelia in here, but I decided to cut her out. Leave the poor girl to deal with herself. Anyway, thanks for all of the follows and favorites! I know this kind of went fast, but it's a one-shot (maybe two), so I kind of wanted it a bit short. Review, review! Next chapter will be a time skip of sorts and you might get to see how ruthless pirate!Arthur can really be. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

_Join me._

The allure held in those two words captured the American's heart, his breath hitching in his throat as the words were breathed out, filled with promise and seduction. Alfred's soul yearned for the sea, yearned for the freedom that could only be provided by mastering the rough waters that had claimed his father's life so many years ago; to stare into its mighty depths and learn its mysteries alongside the infamous Captain and his crew. It held so many ups and downs to the young American as he stared into the burning emerald orbs before him, contemplating his answer as the Captain's large eyebrows furrowed at his hesitation.

The waters called to him like a siren, begging him to venture out upon her azure waters and battle the storms and see the world each time he ventured out to visit the docks. It was a life of considerable freedom, limited by the bows of the ship and by the ports that they landed in; filled with bountiful treasure but also riddled with disease, boredom and bloodshed. Alfred knew the stories all too well of the bloody battles and ruthless killings that went on while on the water, his own father witnessing them when he was alive and sailed. And it was just that – to follow in his father's footsteps and to be able to stand on the boat's bow and go whichever way the wind took him.

He was practically starving in the port town as it was and with winter looming over his head, Alfred might actually starve this year as he almost did last year, had it not been for the tavern keeper and his wife. However, he knew that he could run the same risk at sea if supplies ran low and they were too far from a port. But in the young American's mind, the benefits began to outweigh his doubts, especially as he looked upon the beautifully pale face before him, illuminated by the dying firelight. Despite the Captain's growingly irritated expression, a gentle smile curved into Alfred's lips as he slowly nodded his head, a small gesture that alighted the fire in the pirate's eyes once more, pushing himself back onto the pillows with a smug expression on his face as he looked over the young man before him.

"Glad to hear it," he murmured as his eyes drifted to the figures by the fire that were stirring to life. "We set sail in two days." Two days? That should be long enough for the American to gather what he needed to live a life on the sea. Sunlight was starting to appear through the window and illuminating the room in a soft rosy glow, breaking apart the night's shadows. Sitting back into his chair, blue eyes drifted over to the table where his medical bag sat, images forming in his mind of the past.

_His mother would stand over one side of the table as she chopped some sort of vegetable for a stew and his father would be cleaning the medical instruments on the other side. Little Matthew would be out in the garden, pulling up more vegetables for their dinner and Alfred would be watching his father with wide eyes as he explained what each of the tools were for. The scene would usually play out and then the man that Alfred resembled so much would gather and leave for the ports to sail away again on a ship bound for Africa to acquire more slaves for the wealthier colonists. When he was home however, he was one of the two doctors that serviced their town and was in the process of teaching his eldest son his trade._

_Mrs. Jones' smile would warm his heart as she would glance up from her chopping and comment on various topics of their conversation and Matthew would dart in and out of the house, his hands covered in dirt and a stray smear on his fair cheek._

The memory served as the last time that Alfred had actually seen his father, for their ship was sunk by a Spanish pirate as they were bound for the Caribbean, leaving his family desolate and forcing the older son to begin practicing under the town's other physician. He was unsure at first with a clumsy hand, only allowed to do minor things until his confidence grew steadier as well as his hands. It was in 1762, while Alfred was traveling to a nearby town to help with a delivery that the attack happened. It was quick and when he had returned, the young American observed smoke in the distance and ran to his home in a panic.

Desperation, panic and fear swallowed him whole as he approached the town and witnessed the bodies lying stiff on the ground, surrounded in their own blood as the colonists attempted to clean up as well as mourning over their loved ones. His beautiful mother and young brother had been slaughtered and lay broken and bleeding in their garden, their innocent blood fertilizing the winter vegetables. An American's hands soiled with blood and dirt as he cried over the loss of such innocent life, screaming into the night until his voice was hoarse and then continuing until his body was so drained that he might as well have died along with his family.

Everything was gone and there was nothing for him to turn to other than the kind faces that looked upon him each day as he wandered through the town or each night as he worked behind the bar. Despite a bloody and broken past, he had managed to keep smiling, his soul pining to be free from the images of the town and the memories that went with it. And now his chance, his savior, had arrived in the form of a beautiful and dangerous pirate – offering him a life of freedom and death. There wasn't much more that Alfred could ask for, after all, what had the murmurs going through the patriots said? Give me liberty or give me death? Maybe he wasn't using it in the correct concept, but it certainly fit his mindset.

For a fleeting moment, time stood still. The sting of salt swirling through the heavy air as the breeze blew along the waters. The jaded waves lapped against the wood of the ship's hull as it calmly glided through the sea. With eyes closed, Alfred listed his tanned face skyward and inhaled the musky scent of the sea. His mistress and his home she had become in the few short months that he had sailed under the flag of Captain Kirkland. The warmth of the sun's rays shone upon his face and his mistresses' breath ruffled his wheat-colored hair, blowing the strands away from his wind-whipped cheeks.

The short time that he had sailed thus far with the crew of the dreaded Black Rose had been entirely uneventful. Not at all the life that he imagined he would be living. Every day involved some kind of chore to keep the ship in peak condition and there was an abundance of rules to abide by (the consequences for disobeying these rules proved to be severe as Alfred witnessed an unruly sailor be thrashed on the main deck). But the ship ran beautifully and crew worked harmoniously for a band of pirates, some of whom the young American had a chance to converse with as they completed their daily duties. Francis, the Captain's first mate as it turned out, was a former French naval officer who had been captured by the Royal Navy and turned pirate. Kiku (as Alfred found out his name to be), the mysterious Oriental man that had fought alongside the Captain and his mate was from Japan and not much was known about him except for his mastery of the sword and of combat. There were a few former whalemen who had joined – two from some far-away African nation and another from Nantucket; a few more former sailors – both British and American, and then the natural-born pirate varieties.

As the wind whipped Alfred's cheeks into a rosy pink, clamor arose from the deck below his perch within the sails. Their Captain was striding across the deck, his dark boots thundering across the planks as he walked slowly towards the helm, his covered head turning this way and that to what Alfred could only assume was inspect their work. A smile tugged at the corner of the American's lips as he watched the young Brit climb the stairs to the helm. Their Captain was quite a sight to behold. Alfred had been enraptured by him in the dying firelight of his home, but to see the man in his true element and form was agonizingly blissful if such a word could be used to describe it.

His first day, or night really, had been spent in his room as he gained his sea legs and got accustomed to the crew of the Black Rose. But the second and third days were spent laboring on the decks as their new-found home rose out onto the sea to greet the horizon. It was then that their Captain finally emerged from his quarters. Silence had risen among the men as the ship's veterans acknowledged their Captain and the newer ranks of men gawked in silent awe of the proud Brit that stood before them.

His gem-colored eyes roved over the men like a General eyed his soldiers, and his pink lips curved into a devious smirk. Light blonde hair fell disheveled from beneath the black tricorne on his head, and he wore a similar shirt to the one that Alfred had first seen him in – white and simple with the buttons undone at the top to let the breeze cool his skin. A blood red overcoat, adorned with black and gold trim hung on his shoulders and the bright gold buttons stood out along his waist. Tan breeches were held by a black belt to clung low to his hips, tucked into black boots that thundered as he walked. A leather cord held a golden coin about his throat that dipped along with his collarbone and rested just below his clavicle on the milky white skin.

The American had to force himself to breathe before their Captain barked orders at them in a rough accent that commanded their immediate respect and authority. He was not a man to be crossed though his youthful appearance seemed to beg for it from the elder sailors. The emerald colored orbs caught Alfred's gaze and with a smug expression he winked at the American before turning to converse with a few of the men.

Alfred enjoyed the rare moments such as these when he could gaze upon his Captain, unabashed and take in each and every detail of the man. The dampness from the sea that clung to his skin, making it glisten in the sunlight as the salt began to clump together on his exposed flesh. These musings had become common for the young American as he sat up in the crow's nest on his watch, especially whenever their Captain came into view. He had discussed these 'unnatural' feelings with his brother before his abrupt death and Matthew had much less to say on the matter than Alfred did. Despite being younger, Matthew had managed to obtain a maturity that was well beyond his years and it often drove Alfred to consult his younger brother, especially in matters of the heart. And in that instance, all that the younger blonde had to offer was to "follow his heart". Rolling his eyes at the internal memory of conversation, Alfred's gaze shifted back out to the vast expanse of water; perhaps he would see a whale today? Bright and billowing clouds stood on the horizon, oddly low for this time of day and moving quickly. Rubbing a broad hand over his face, Alfred blinked again at the horizon and shifted in his narrow perch, forcing his body to lean over his makeshift railing as he peered at the bizarre clouds ahead. The waves rolled with the breeze and glimpse of something darker rose from under the clouds before dipping back down in the dark water below.

"SHIP!" His voice rang clear as his body leapt up, hand grasping the main mast for support as his other hand cupped his mouth to call out to the bodies of men below, "SHIP ON THE HORIZON!"

Chaos ensued upon the deck as the men scattered, leaving their duties where they stood to peer over the railing on the sides to look towards the horizon. A few other keen eyes spotted the ship and the men's voices rang loud and clear as they hurried to their stations on the deck, making sure to pick up their neglected work and put it away before hauling to the ropes or below deck.

Captain Kirkland grew rigid at the helm, eyes darkening as he drew a spyglass from the storage chest at his feet. Crossing to the port side, he drew his spyglass upwards and trained it upon the horizon. The American had meanwhile, pulled himself from the crow's nest and using the strips of cloth that hung about his belt wrapped his hands tightly before gripping one of the taunt ropes that swayed about in the wind. With a calculated step, he lurched off of the small platform and allowed the rope to careen him down to the decks below – his feet landing with a thud before he quickly drew near to his Captain's side. The spyglass slowly lowered and the look on the former Naval Captain's face was almost murderous. His eyes were ablaze with a fiery passion and his face pale in the winter winds. A word ghosted from his lips and carried away with the wind, but it was a word that was recognized by all on the ship – a word that struck fear and anticipation in their hearts as well as a murderous spirit.

_Carriedo_.

**A/N: It's been soooooo long!**

**Sorry guys, I'll try my best to update – but no guarantees. If I just completely disappear, well.. oh well, right? Heh. Cliffhangers! Sorry, I know everyone hates that but oh well. Probably only a chapter or two left on this. This was more a filler chapter and there's a big battle scene next chapter and possibly some lemons.**

**By the way, if you can't tell – I'm in looooooooooooove with pirate!England. And I have to admit that pirate!Spain is pretty damn hot too. And pirate!France and so on so forth…**

**To those who were wondering, Texas wasn't really 'around' at this time – that's why Alfred doesn't have glasses.**

**Also, virtual cookies to whoever catches my novel reference in here.**


End file.
